


The Witch Is Dead

by Gangstertogangster



Category: Luke Cage (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Older Woman/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 23:13:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20266096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gangstertogangster/pseuds/Gangstertogangster
Summary: Biting the bullet and writing a little something for Shades when he finds out.A little ficlet that roughly has some of my thoughts about his finding out.I always felt it annoying that Misty said his finding Mariah a "crazy bitch" was "something they finally agreed on" so I wanted to include that because I'm petty.





	The Witch Is Dead

He'd grieved enough. Besides that, he'd already said goodbye. He killed Che. He snitched on her. Hector died in the hospital from an aneurism, and yeah, Hernan shed a tear. He could have cried more, but his eyes were so tired lately. Hector didn't deserve that, Che didn't deserve that, Mariah? She deserved to rot in jail but damn he still remembered her touch and voice and smell and taste as if she never left.

Hernan walked down the hot September streets in an overcoat, the worn photograph of him and Comanche and Romeo growing sweaty in his pocket. What the hell was he going to do now?

_Help Carl win. Try to still, albeit anonymously, pay off Janis' debts. Repair severed family connections. Pretend everything is normal and ignore whatever sunken feeling washes over you, makes your stomach churn, pretend you look forward to each new day because you're free and you don't have to see her again. Like you never ever wanted this freedom with her. _

Hernan rolled his eyes as he walked through Central Park said aloud "Crazy bitch..." He chuckled sourly and walked on. It was a new day, uneventful. Much of the day at a chess table, staring at the photo. T_here must be more photos of me and Che._ That was a persistent thought. The rest of the time he spent drinking coffee, eating mofongo and arroz con gandules, soaking in the sirens from ambulances and cop cars and the shouting and basses thumping from cars and kids' laughter and swearing from grown folks and muttering from old folks. 

So much noise but he felt so shut off from everything, even in Manhattan, even in Harlem, especially in Harlem. Witness protection wasn't something he cared about. He could protect himself just fine. He laughed when he saw the missed call from Misty. _Thoughtful of her, but it was no surprise. __Did it hurt to have your ex order a hit on you? Almost as much as it hurt to call her "your ex." _

It shouldn't hurt, she was past saving. She was lost. She was gone. She was in jail and try as she might she wasn't going to get out. He made sure of that. But remembering what he told her last night, they could have had it all. _If she just sold the painting..._

Sometime through the day, he began to feel a bit queasy. He stumbled over to a trash can just in case, but nothing. False alarm. It was the rich food. He went back to the path. Went back to his apartment, lay in bed, waiting for the damn day to be over, staring at the bare walls. The sheets felt so empty. He reached for the photo of him and Comanche and Romeo, put it under his pillow, slept through tosses and turns and frequent waking to get coffee or water or whatever else. 

TV was just one story after another about the rising crime rates, the partner turned snitch aka himself. He left it off. He passed out on the couch. 

When Hernan woke up, he felt so thirsty. He rushed to get a drink of water. He chugged down glass after glass. That was followed by coffee. He felt the liquid burn a hole in his throat. 

He showered, shaved, dressed. Just a nice black sweatshirt, real dope, and some dark pants, just serviceable. No shades, not anymore. _That was back when I was me. _

He walked out of the building. The sun smacked him dead in the face. Further down the block voices kept multiplying. He felt that nausea creep back up. He didn't have any breakfast, so that must explain it. He thought about finding a bodega to buy some Advil. 

Lots of "Can you believe it?" And "Shit, good riddance." "Her ass is DEAD." Hernan picked up on the 'her.' He set out to find the nearest bodega. 'Her' could be any bitch in Harlem. He kept hearing scattered comments, "bitch died" this, then "_old_ bitch died" that. Not _that_ old bitch, no way. S_he's just locked up she's just locked up she's just locked up... _

People were starting to follow him with their eyes. He wished he had those sunglasses. 

He began to pick up the pace. Found a place on the corner, nearly tripped on the sidewalk. Checked the time on his phone. still early. Seven in the morning. He decided to check the news while he was at it.

"Harlem Matriarch dies in police custody." Her picture. Her eyes staring back at him from behind the screen. 

He staggered to the bodega. Found the New York Bulletin. She was smiling at nothing in the photo they chose, wearing a white blouse, her eyes sparkling. Guy at the counter said something like "ain't you the guy..." 

The other two there by the register laughed but it felt like white noise against his ears. He threw down the money from his pocket, swiftly took the paper, ran out. He felt his knees weaken, his stomach churn. His eyes felt leaden. He noticed his mouth dried up again real fast. A lot of noise, too much noise. He thought he was done grieving. He thought he was done with her. He felt tears roll down his cheeks, almost staining the front page. 

He walked for what felt like ages to El Barrio Restaurant, a favorite place of his. He sat down at the bar, paid for a coffee and some food. The daily special, it didn't matter what it was, he just had to have something or else he really would throw up. The food came as he sat, perched on the bar stool, staring down at Mariah staring back up. His breath remained shaky. He ran his fingers over the front page. He didn't want to open it. Just wanted to keep looking at Mariah. 

And then he heard that cocky voice. Misty. 

He didn't feel quite as sick when Misty informed him of his arrest. Or the anonymous ledger. He smiled, laughed. "What a crazy bitch." 

Misty said it was something they finally agreed on. He just smiled smugly in response, looked her in the eyes and turned around to be led away by the mormon looking cop who handcuffed him. 

Why were they clueless. Even Misty, who annoyingly knew everything. They'd always agreed on that, she just didn't know it. Mariah was always a crazy bitch. HIS crazy bitch. She made sure to send after him even after she really was gone. He couldn't help but feel touched, even grateful. 


End file.
